


Three Days

by LynnLarsh



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Crippling Lonliness, Dipper goes through so much, Dipper has to survive Weirdmageddon alone, Gen, Killing, Mental Breakdown, Monsters, Poor abused little Dippin Dot, Survival, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 22:10:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5181512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynnLarsh/pseuds/LynnLarsh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A telling of what went on in the three days Dipper had to survive Weirdmageddon on his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kali_asleep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kali_asleep/gifts).



> Ever since Weirdmageddon: Part 1 came out, I've had this idea in my head of what Dipper may have gone through in the moments we didn't see. Eventually, I just bit the bullet and wrote it all down. Spoiler alert for those of you who haven't seen the episode yet. This is my own personal canon, so if our ideas of those three days differ at all, well. I hope you enjoy the fic anyway.
> 
> Also, and as always, all my thanks goes to kali_asleep for her amazing beta-ing and even more amazing friendship. All my love. You has it.

_"It's okay, Dipper. You should totally go with Grunkle Ford to save the world. Or whatever."_

_"Are you sure?"_

_"We're going to be doing birthday junk all week. Plus I packed us walkie talkies! Here's one for my Party Mission, and here's one for you're Smartie Mission."_

_xxx_

__

Day One:

“Mabel… I hope you’re safe. I know the rift must have cracked in your backpack or something and I know this is all my fault, but I hope… I just hope you can hear me. Please, Mabel. Please tell me you’re okay.”

The walkie talkie crackles with feedback, zero frequency, no signs of life. It’s been that way for hours. It’s been that way since the moment Dipper realized everything was completely and totally doomed.

Doesn’t mean he’s stopped trying though.

“Mabel,” he starts again, holding down the button like a lifeline, hoping beyond hope that when he releases it, there will be a familiar, high pitched voice on the other end. “Mabel, I-”

An otherworldly scream echoes not too far from where he’s perched behind the felled and rotted tree he’s taken refuge next to. What did Bill call them? He knows one of them is named Teeth. He knows both of them want to eat him. That’s all the information he needs, really. And way more information than he wants.

“Mabel,” Dipper whispers, even though they don’t seem close enough just yet for it to be necessary. But then again, who knows how good demonic hearing is anyway? He may be a bit out of his depth on this one. “Mabel, if you can hear me, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please stay safe.”

Not even bothering to listen for a reply, Dipper pockets the walkie and runs both shaking hands over his face. He takes a deep breath, another, and then sprints into the woods as fast as his nearly thirteen year old legs can carry him.

 

xxx

 

It takes long enough for his whole body to feel like jelly and his chest to feel enveloped in flames, but eventually, Dipper manages to evade Bill’s friends. It helps that he knows Gravity Falls better than they do, knows all the nooks and crannies one can hide in, all the side streets one can escape down. 

But even so, he’d be hard pressed to admit he recognizes any of Gravity Falls anymore.

Everything looks different. Wrong.

Bill’s personal touch can be seen in nearly every inch of the town. At one point, he saw a mailbox eating a street lamp. With an actual mouth. And the street lamp may or may not have been fighting back. It was hard to say. He’d passed by towards the end of the scuffle.

Great Uncle Ford had been right. This wasn’t a Bang. This was a stumble into insanity.

_Ford…_

Dipper sags a bit against the nearest tree, lets the bark press uncomfortably into his back. It’s the stuff of nightmares, what happened to Ford, what’s happening to the entire town. He highly doubts he’ll ever be able to sleep peacefully again. But he can’t let that stop him. Not when Mabel is still out there, and Grunkle Stan and Soos and Wendy. He has to find them. He has to fix this. He has to do _something_.

And yet, his legs refuse to move, choosing to buckle beneath him instead.

Oh. They’ve gone numb. Huh. And they’re trembling. His whole body is. When did that happen? Why am-?

_Why am I crying?_

Dipper clutches his knees to his chest, hugs them tight, and tries not to hyperventilate. This is all wrong. Bill was never supposed to win. He’d done _everything_ he was supposed to, hadn’t he? They’d found the adhesive. They’d survived. All he’d done was be selfish for once. All he’d wanted was a bit more time, a bit more adventure. Was that so wrong?

And now. And now.

“I’m sorry, Mabel,” Dipper says to no one, knows she can’t hear him, not without the walkie. Maybe not even with it. But he says so anyway, feels every word like a knife to the chest. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

 

xxx

 

It’s already getting dark by the time he finally pulls himself away from the tree. Of course, it’s not a sudden extra boost of strength that does it by any means. If he’s being honest with himself, it has much more to do with the hallow, persistent ache in his stomach.

There isn’t anything to eat in the forest. He saw the stampede, knows without a doubt that the animal life of Gravity Falls is far more intelligent than their citizens when it comes to the good old intuition of Cut and Run. Not to mention, Dipper is hardly a boy scout, and he’s definitely not a hunter. If he goes about eating everything with leaves in the hope he’ll stumble upon sustenance, he’ll most likely only stumble upon a bad case of diarrhea. Not something he needs to be dealing with during the apocalypse. And even if there was an animal around for him to eat, he highly doubts he’d be able to kill it.

Which basically means he’s left with one option. He needs to return to town. 

Without thinking, he grabs the walkie-talkie from his vest pocket, thumbs the button that should, for all intents and purposes, connect him right to Mabel. It grounds him, makes him feel a bit less like he’s alone in this. 

But only a bit.

He presses the button.

“Mabel, I’m going to try and find myself some food,” he says, not quite sure why he’s even bothering to explain. Maybe it’s in the hopes that she’s listening and just mad at him, ignoring him. Not that he would blame her. He _did_ indirectly start the apocalypse. But maybe it just makes him feel, even in the smallest, most irrational sense, like she’s there, experiencing this with him. 

“Remember when we ate that entire red velvet cake Grunkle Stan brought back from Lazy Susan’s that one time?” Dipper hears himself start on half second delay, feet already dragging him one step at a time back towards Gravity Falls proper. “We swore we’d never eat cake again, right? But then, literally the next day, you saw that carrot cake in the window at that bakery downtown, remember that? You wouldn’t stop asking me to split it with you. It didn’t even occur to you that we might not be able to finish it without getting sick. I mean, it didn’t occur to me either.”

The trees give way to asphalt and metal, buildings looming over him like guardians of a city he is no longer welcome in.

“We ate it anyway, though, you know?” Dipper says into the radio silence. “Because why not, right Mabel? Because we could. Because I can never say no to you. And besides…” Dipper scans the empty street, waiting for something or someone to give him a sign, point him in the right direction, but he’s all alone. All alone with the exception of the floating ear meandering by and the giant pyramid thrumming like a dub-step heartbeat in the distance. 

“I like to think we earned it.”

 

xxx

 

He doesn’t find any food.

At least nothing he feels safe eating. When he approaches Greasy’s Diner, it’s obvious even from a distance that it’s been completely stripped, looted to the point of total desolation. Still, he cautiously crawls through a broken window, led by the naively optimistic motivation of an empty stomach.

Everything is in ruins, tables and barstools overturned, broken glass littering the floor. Dipper flinches at the sound of it crunching beneath his feet, everything a bit too loud, like every step is alerting someone or something to his presence. Being as quiet as he can, at least until he knows the place is deserted, Dipper makes his way to the kitchen.

It’s in as sad a state as the rest of the diner. Cupboards have been thrown open and emptied, cooking utensils have been strewn about, some of which coated in what Dipper pretends is ketchup. He’s not sure what sort of fight broke out here, or if it was even between humans, but he does know that the winners cleared the kitchen of every speck of food. So, with a sigh, Dipper grabs an empty can off the floor and goes to the sink.

The faucet sputters at first and Dipper’s heart sinks. No food is one thing, but no water? That’s a far more dangerous dilemma. Thankfully, though, it seems the apocalypse hasn’t left its mark on the Gravity Falls water systems just yet. The faucet clicks a few times more before splashing Dipper’s hand and filling the tin can with a cold, clean looking spray of water.

He drinks four cans worth, until his stomach aches for entirely different reasons. It’s not quite like being full, but at least he won’t die of thirst.

From outside the diner’s broken windows, Dipper can tell that darkness has finally fallen over Gravity Falls. The fluorescent lights that aren’t shattered flicker above him in a way that feels too much like haunted convenience stores and hidden bunkers. Dipper grabs the walkie from his vest and clutches it to his chest, just listening to the distant sound of the rest of the town quickly succumbing to Bill’s destruction.

He presses the button.

“Hey, Mabel. Turns out the diner didn’t have any food, but it’s too dark to go looking somewhere else, so…” Dipper shuffles about the kitchen as he talks, turns over this and that, scours every inch of the place three times over just in case he missed something. “The water’s still running, though. And you die of dehydration way sooner than you die of starvation. Something like the difference between days and weeks, you know? Not that we’ll have to go without food for that long, I promise. I’ll find you before that happens.”

Dipper walks into the freezer, the chilled air already shorted out and the whole room strangely humid. All that remains inside are empty cardboard boxes, a few equally empty cans, and surprisingly, a half eaten potato.

Dipper picks it up, rubs the bitten end on his shirt, and takes a bite of his own. It tastes about as bland as he expected it to, but his stomach growls in appreciation none the less.

He presses the button.

“Guess what, Mabel? I found a potato.”

 

xxx

 

He must have nodded off. The sound of a crash startles him back into consciousness, Dipper’s whole body thrumming with a burst of adrenaline. It takes him a moment to realize where he is, that he’s not in the shack, not in his bed. For a brief, blissful second, there’s no Weirdmageddon, Ford and Stan are downstairs, and Mabel is asleep in the bed across the room. But the dream shatters with the sound of more broken glass from the diner outside.

Someone had his same idea.

Careful not to make a sound, Dipper gets to his feet, tiptoes over to the service window, and takes a peak.

He’s not sure exactly what he expected, but it definitely isn’t this.

The monster currently rifling through the empty dessert rack looks like a weird amalgamation of shapes and colors, its heads ranging in size and texture, and eyes littered about most of its body. Dipper can’t quite help the small gasp that escapes him at the sight, and all eyes instantly shoot in his direction.

“ _Piiiiiiiiine Treeeeeeeee_ ,” it gurgles, pulling away from the dessert rack and straightening up to a terrifying height, one of its heads actually scraping the ceiling. Dipper ducks back behind the service window on instinct, glancing about the kitchen for a back exit. Or maybe a weapon? A plan. He needs a plan. “ _Cooooome oooon oooooouuuut, Piiiiiiiine Treeeeeee_.” Its voice grates, like bark being ripped from a tree and someone drowning in their own blood and Dipper’s not quite sure if it’s that or the fear to blame, but he’s pretty sure he’s about to throw up.

“ _Theeeeeere yoooooou aaaaaare_ ,” it says from right above his head, and Dipper barely has time to react as a clawed hand reaches over the service counter and swipes. It manages to knock the hat from his head, claws grazing just so at the edge of his scalp, but Dipper scrambles away in time, snatching his hat from the floor and jumping to his feet.

“Stay back!” He shouts, hand reaching into his vest for a journal he realizes a half second too late won’t be in there. “Don’t make me hurt you!”

“ _Yoooooou caaaan’t huuuuurt meeeeeee, Piiiiiiine Treeeeee_ ,” the thing barks a guttural laugh, an even more nauseating sound. 

“Stop calling me that!” Dipper yells, looking frantically around before grabbing a frying pan and brandishing it out in front of himself like a sword. He hates this, hates that Bill has won and that Ford is a statue and that Mabel is missing. He hates that these creatures know him, that Bill thinks this is all a game. _Look at Pine Tree, my puppet back for an encore, go ahead, eat him, you deserve a treat._

Well he won’t be eaten so easily.

Dipper doesn’t give the creature enough time to do much more than get one winged leg over the edge of the counter before he’s bashing the frying pan into its heads, each one, one at a time, over and over again. He realizes in a vague sort of half recognition that he’s screaming, an animalistic sound that claws up his chest and out, scratching his throat raw. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows the creature is already dead, or at least unconscious, but Dipper can’t stop, his arms coming down, down, down, over and over and over. The clang of metal against bone and scales dulls into a muted squish, squish, squish, and Dipper drops the frying pan to the floor, falls to his knees, and vomits.

He empties his stomach completely, until it’s nothing but bile, his whole body shaking with leftover adrenaline and fatigue.

He hates this. He hates this.

_I wish Mabel was here._

Slowly, every inch of him aching, Dipper crawls away from the monster, away from his own sick, and nestles himself into the corner of the kitchen. He waits, listens, makes sure he’s alone again. Then he pulls out the walkie.

He presses the button.

“Mabel, I-” he starts, but his voice cracks, words lodged in his throat. His eyes are burning, vision going blurry. “Mabel, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I love you. And… And if-”

He stops. He knows what he was going to say, knows it needs to be said, even if she’s not listening, but he can’t bring himself to do it. It just tastes too much like giving up.

So instead, he says, “Bill has Great Uncle Ford, and I’m not sure where Grunkle Stan is.” He takes a breath, wills himself to believe the words he says next. “But I’m still here, Mabel. And I’ll find you. I won’t let anything happen to me until I do. I’ll get to you, Mabel. No matter what.”

He lets go of the button, listens to the static for a good couple of minutes, and then turns off the walkie.

He stares at the monster, half draped over the service counter. He stares at the purple, blood-like liquid dripping out of one of its heads, watches as the growing puddle begins to mingle with Dipper’s pathetically regurgitated attempt at dinner.

Eventually, his eyes close, the constant, chaotic sound of the apocalypse playing as soundtrack and score to his inevitable nightmares.

Strangely, the last thing he thinks before falling asleep is, _What a waste of a perfectly good potato._

 

Day two:

This time it’s a noise outside of the diner that startles Dipper awake.

The first thing he becomes aware of as his mind and body start sluggishly dragging themselves back to consciousness is the increasingly worrisome pain in his stomach. Far past hunger at this point, then. Awesome. 

The second thing is that the sound outside the diner is very obviously screaming.

Well, who isn’t screaming now a days? It’s a nightmare everywhere you look. 

Dipper grabs the edge of a shelving unit and forces himself to his feet, stumbling on aching legs to the sink. He turns on the faucet and splashes handful after handful of water on his face, the bite of it not nearly cold enough to properly wake him but enough to give him some sense back.

The screaming continues, a group of people, definitely human.

He should start looking for some food elsewhere, escape out the back somehow, keep trying to find Mabel and Stan. Surely those people can take care of themselves. What is he supposed to do anyway? He’s just a kid. 

Dipper grabs the can from yesterday and fills it with the still running water, downing the lot of it in two swallows. The action is physically painful, his stomach seizing a bit on impact. He fills up another, downs that one as well.

The screams are closer now. People running past?

Dipper glances at the monster still half dangling over the service counter and then closes his eyes, runs a hand over his face.

What’s he supposed to do? Surely killing that thing last night was a fluke. Good timing. Dipper hardly even remembers doing it. He can’t save everybody. He can barley save himself.

_But what if it were Mabel?_

Dipper walks around the edge of the kitchen, back into the diner, and pauses at the entrance, door off its hinges, glass shattered beyond repair. There’s a group of people being corralled by a flock of Bill’s henchbats not too far from where Dipper stands. He recognizes some of them, people he’s met in passing, but it’s nobody he knows personally. He shouldn’t. He should just sneak past, take care of himself.

But he has to do something. This is all his fault, after all.

Before he can lose his nerve, Dipper runs back into the kitchen and grabs the frying pan, a knife. Nothing seems like a good enough weapon, but he feels a bit better just knowing he has _something_. He glances one more time at the monster, the puddle of purpleish liquid already dry underneath it, and tightens his grip around the handle of the frying pan.

He did what he had to. And this will be no different.

It’s not much of a plan, but Dipper is outside and running towards the group of people without a second thought. Except, by the time he gets to them, all but one has already been turned to stone, the henchbat’s ray lifting them off the ground and away before Dipper can do much of anything at all. The only one left is a young girl, probably no older than six or seven, and with the way she cries, reaching for the disappearing statues with a desperation that’s almost physically painful to watch, it’s obvious the rest of the group had been her family.

Another henchbat drops from the sky, heading towards her, but the girl doesn’t move, just buries in on herself and cries. Dipper’s heart shoots into his throat, his arm reeling back. As hard as he can, Dipper launches the frying pan at the henchbat’s giant eye, hitting his target dead on. The creature makes a blood curdling noise and sputters frantically in mid air, his attack momentarily paused but in no way thwarted.

Dipper is next to the girl in an instant, pulling her into his chest with one arm and holding the knife high over his head with the other. The girl doesn’t even hesitate, clinging to Dipper’s vest and burying her face in his shirt.

As expected, the henchbat doesn’t take long to recover, circling above them in some sort of preparation. They need to get out of here. Now. But to where? And how? Dipper pulls the girl away, probably a bit more forcefully than he means to, and positions himself in front of her, hands on her shoulders.

“What’s your name?” He asks, and if he sounds a bit rushed, and more than a bit terrified, well, that can’t be helped. 

“Bonnie,” the girl sniffles, eyes still welling up with fresh tears. Dipper tries to offer her a smile, though it doesn’t seem to help much.

“Hi, Bonnie. I’m Dipper. Everything’s going to be fine, alright?”

She doesn’t seem to believe him. But then again, he doesn’t exactly blame her. He doesn’t really believe himself either.

The henchbat swoops down, heading for them fast. Dipper spots an empty convenience store not far from where they are, a perfect place to hide. If they can just get to it. He’s not very fast, but he’s probably faster than a six year old girl.

“Listen, Bonnie,” Dipper says quickly. “I’m going to need you to get on my back. Like… Like a piggy back ride. Can you do that for me?” Bonnie nods, the fear on her face giving way to a small flicker of determination. Dipper turns around and helps her get her arms over his shoulders, her legs pressing firm against his sides. “Okay. Hold on tight. It’s gonna be okay.” He feels her head bob against his back, her hands tightening uncomfortably around his neck. 

He takes off in a run, narrowly avoiding the beam of light flashing down from the henchbat’s eye. Bonnie is a little heavier then he expected, and the tighter she grasps the harder it is for him to breathe, but they’re so close, the building practically within reach. They turn the corner, the henchbat falling out of sight.

Dipper’s foot catches on something and he hits the ground hard, chin colliding with concrete and Bonnie’s weight knocking the breath out of him. His knife clatters out of reach down the sidewalk. The pain is sharp and momentarily blinding, but through the haze of it, he manages to catch sight of a tentacle by his feet, more of them slithering out of the alleyway to his right. Dipper kicks at the tentacle closest to him, jabbing it with the heel of his shoe, but it merely wraps around his ankle in response, pulling.

Bonnie clutches at his back with a death grip, crying into his ear. Dipper can see the knife a few feet away but even if he stretches, struggles against the tentacle’s grip and claws at the concrete for leverage, there’s no way he can reach it. Especially when he feels the tentacle’s grip tighten and yank, his whole body skidding another couple of feet down the sidewalk. Dipper’s hand flails out in panic, colliding painfully with metal. A street sign. He grabs onto it with both hands.

“Bonnie, run,” Dipper grits out, looking over his shoulder at the girl, the child, still clinging to his back. “Bonnie, go! That building over there. You can make it if you run. Hurry!” _I can’t save you. You have to save yourself._ But the girl just shakes her head, cries harder, grips him tighter. “Bonnie, please! You have to-” The tentacle pulls hard enough that he almost loses his grip, his shoulders stretching painfully in their sockets. Dipper chokes back a scream, pain flaring behind his eyes.

And suddenly, the weight on his back is gone.

Dipper squints one eye open just in time to see Bonnie running ahead in the direction of the convenience store. Dipper breathes a sigh of relief. He couldn’t save her, but he gave her a chance. He did something. Maybe she’ll be alright. Maybe he hasn’t completely-

The sound of small, hurried footsteps coming closer derails Dipper’s train of thought. He looks up, nearly letting go of the street sign in shock. Bonnie is running back in his direction, knife in hand.

“Bonnie, stop!” Dipper cries out, pleads, even as his own fear multiplies tenfold at the feeling of another tentacle snaking around his waist. “Just go!” But Bonnie is already running past him, small hands holding the knife awkwardly away from herself. She should never have had to do this. He should never have made her do this.

A sound echoes from inside the alley, a screech that rattles Dipper’s bones. All at once, Dipper’s body sags onto the sidewalk, the tentacles twitching and slithering away. Dipper scrambles to his feet, looking around, but the little girl is nowhere to be found. A scream echoes from inside the alley and Dipper follows it, heart pounding. He sees the monster first, a giant tentacle with multiple, smaller tentacles protruding from nearly every inch of it, one such tentacle sporting Dipper’s knife. He sees Bonnie next, cowering in fear at the creature’s feet.

Dipper rushes in, jumping at the tentacle with his knife lodged deep in its flesh, and rips the blade out. The screech that elicits practically makes Dipper’s ears bleed, but he keeps at it, slashing at every tentacle that comes his way. He climbs up the monster’s body to what he assumes must be its head. 

Dipper raises the knife with both hands and stabs.

He hates this.

The monster reels, screeches again, bucks Dipper off of it completely. Dipper flies into the alley wall and slides down to the floor with a painful thud. His head is spinning and his ears are ringing and everything hurts, but as he watches the creature high-tail it over the fence, what he mostly feels is relief.

“Dipper?” Bonnie’s small voice tugs at his attention. Dipper turns his head, not quite ready to move the rest of him yet. Bonnie crawls over to him, eyes wide but dry. “You okay?”

Despite the pain in his… well, everything, Dipper sits up and reaches out a hand, placing it on Bonnie’s shoulder. “Thanks to you.”

Bonnie smiles big enough for Dipper to see her missing tooth. A smile that etches itself into Dipper’s mind with a permanence as tragic as the statue she suddenly becomes.

Dipper forces his gaze to the sky, the henchbat, probably the same one from before, enveloping its beam of damnable light all around Bonnie. His heart drops into his stomach.

“What? No!” Dipper cries out, reaches blindly through the red glow, but Bonnie’s statue is already floating out of his reach. “No, stop! Give her back!” The henchbat pays Dipper no mind, content to simply cart off his new prize to Bill’s castle and leave Dipper behind. “Please!” He begs, even though he knows it can’t hear him, would probably ignore him either way.

He hates this.

Dipper clenches his hands into fists, palms stinging from where the street sign broke skin. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be the hero, isn’t he? How is he going to save Mabel if he can’t even save a six year old girl? Dipper raises his hand and slams the side of his fist into the wall. He does it again and again until the concrete has chewed up his skin and the muscle feels bruised. Then, he promptly collapses onto the alley floor. 

He curls in on himself, chest aching and hand throbbing. He closes his eyes and then promptly opens them again, the image of Bonnie’s face, all smiles and alien stone flashing too fresh behind his eyelids. 

He pulls the walkie-talkie out of his vest and presses the button.

“Hey, Mabel,” he croaks out, not even caring that he sounds near tears. “It’s me. Are you there?” He lets go of the button and pauses for a long time, listens to the sound of radio static. Then he presses it again. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

He turns off the wlakie, tucks it back against his chest, and tries not to think about all the people he’s not saving.

 

xxx

 

Eventually, Dipper’s forced to leave the alley.

He’s not exactly sure where he’s going to go, but the sound of multiple _somethings_ approaching is hard to ignore. Not mention, if he stays in one spot for too long, he may as well just walk up to Bill’s Fear-amid and hand himself over. He’s honestly surprised the henchbat that took Bonnie didn’t come back for him. He’d definitely given it enough time to. And if he’s being honest with himself, he was kind of hoping it would. At first.

But he can’t give up. Not until he finds Mabel. Not until he’s sure she’s safe.

His back spasms a bit as he gets to his feet, his whole world tilting dizzily for a moment. He’s gone too long without food. Add that to the beating he just took and he’s not surprised when he has to lean against the wall for a moment and get his bearings. 

He’s not doing well. Maybe it was just a childlike fantasy that, if the apocalypse were to fall, he’d defeat Bill no problem, come out on top, be the hero. But instead, all he is is bruised, battered, and alone.

Careful to avoid all of his new aches and pains, Dipper pushes away from the wall and starts walking, keeping a wary eye out for any of Bill’s creatures lurking about the town.

It’s a lot quieter now. Sure, there are still people running past, families hiding in their homes or in partially demolished stores, but the chaos has died down to a dull roar. In many ways, that’s almost more disconcerting. Like the quieter it gets, the closer Bill gets to winning.

Dipper wants to go back to the shack, wants it more than anything, but he knows it’s the first place Bill would look. He also knows it’s the last place any of his friends and family would be. It’s not safe there anymore, maybe never has been. Even after they’d gotten the unicorn hair, even after they’d solidified a way to guard their minds, it had been no more than a prolonging of the inevitable. Bill was always going to get in. He was always going to find a way. It was just a matter of how and when. He’d just been waiting for one of them to let their guard down. 

And of course it would be Dipper. Of course it would. Once a puppet, always a puppet.

Without really meaning to, Dipper finds himself walking in the direction of Soos’ house, the only other place they’d ever, even if only briefly, called home. Soos’ abuelita had taken them in when Gideon had taken over the Shack. Maybe she’ll have done it again now that Bill’s taken over the world. Abuelita’s silent refuge. A little slice of safety in a very unsafe time. It almost seems like too much to hope for. Still, Dipper cautiously makes his way down side streets and back alleys, staying away from the main roads as much as possible.

When her house comes into view, strangely untouched if he ignores the new addition of a giant tentacle in their backyard, Dipper almost allows himself to hope. Maybe they’re all inside. Maybe they’re all okay. It’s such a grandiose hope, and after what he’s seen so far, highly unlikely. But he can’t deny the way his legs disregard their aching soreness and pick up speed.

He doesn’t notice it until it’s too late, an inhuman clicking, a shriek right at his back. Dipper spins around, nearly stumbling on the stairs of the front porch. The creature that approaches him must have, at one point, been a regular, completely inanimate barbeque grill. What it is now, however, is very much animated and undeniably stalking up the driveway in Dipper’s direction. With the way its newly acquired mouth opens and shuts, jagged metal grates for teeth clicking impatiently, it’s obvious it thinks itself predator to Dipper’s prey.

Dipper darts the rest of the way up the stairs and grabs at the handle of the front door. Locked. He bangs on the wood, the picture window, in the hopes that someone might be inside. He even calls out for Soos, for Abuelita, voice frantic. No response. He spins around, pressing his back into the door. The grill monster stretches its long, metal stand-turned-leg across the threshold of the front lawn, stepping up to the front porch in one single, fluid step.

The creature lets out another shriek and Dipper feels the sound of it straight to his bones, his whole body practically vibrating with adrenaline and fear. He’s going to die here. He’s going to die. He’s going to be eaten alive by a grill monster and Ford will be a statue forever and the world will end and Mabel-

He still has to find Mabel. No, no, no, he can’t die until he finds Mabel!

But even as Dipper looks frantically around for a weapon, he comes up disappointingly short. The only thing within reach is the door mat. Dipper quickly bends down to pick it up anyway, hyper aware of the grill creature’s giant eye staring him down, of its unnatural tongue wagging and metal fangs clanking against each other in something akin to amusement. 

Dipper rolls the doormat up as tight as he can, ignoring the way the rough material chafes against his skin. He holds it out in front of himself, swinging it like a torch with a flame. “Get out of here!” He shouts at it, even though it does nothing to stop the creatures approach. The grill inches its leg up past the stairs and onto the porch, one step all it will take to put him right on top of Dipper. “I’m warning you!” Dipper tries, and he doesn’t even know if the thing understands him, but he presses his back against the door as much as he can and keeps on. “If you take one more step I’ll-“

The solidness of the door suddenly vanishes from behind him, the doormat falling from Dipper’s hand as he tumbles backwards, arms flailing. He lands in something soft, too discombobulated to do much more than scramble back to his feet and slam the door in the creature’s nightmarish face.

Just in time.

Dipper locks the door even though he knows he doesn’t have to, and simply stands with both hands on the knob, mind whirring and heart beating painfully against his chest.

“So sorry, _mijito_ ,” a voice from behind startles Dipper so badly he hits the back of his head on the wood of the door in his haste to turn around. But when he does, there’s nothing there besides the flower-patterned recliner he fell into. At least, he thinks it’s just a recliner, until it opens its eyes and continues speaking in a voice that sounds exactly like Abuelita’s. “It’s so hard to open a door without your fingers.”

Dipper chokes back the instinctual sensation of unnatural = Bill = stay far, far away, and whispers, “Mrs. Ramirez?”

It’s hard not to be unnerved at the sight of a chair with a face, but Dipper chooses to take comfort in the way the recliner smiles in response. “Of course,” she says. “And you are Dipper, _si_? You look so tired. Why don’t you take a seat?”

Dipper clears his throat, awkwardly stepping away from the door. “I’m… good, thanks.” He looks around the small house, still trying to catch his breath. The sound of the grill-monster shrieking just outside the house is distracting. “Is Soos here?”

“Oh no,” Abuelita shuffles the entire frame of the recliner around to face Dipper more completely. “My Soos went off to help the others. He will be back soon.”

With the immediate danger passing and the sound of the grill-creature’s shrieking fading into a more and more distant background noise, Dipper’s exhaustion starts to settle in. Despite his refusal from moments before, Dipper tiredly makes his way to one of the more inanimate couches and lets himself collapse into it. He rests his face in the palms of his hands and takes a deep breath.

If someone had told him this was where he’d find himself by the end of the summer…

“So,” Dipper leans back into the couch cushions, rubbing at his eyes until they pop and sparkle with stars. “How long has Soos been gone? Did I just miss him?”

“He has been gone since yesterday,” Abuelita says, so casual and unconcerned that Dipper almost misses it.

Dipper drops his hands, eyes shifting much too slowly from startbursts to blurry to clear. “Since yesterday?” Dipper parrots, heart stuttering in his chest. Abuelita offers a murmur of agreement but seems surprisingly serene, no worry at all on her chair-like face.

Another one missing. Another person he needs to save.

Soos, Wendy, Stan, Mabel… All he had was Ford and now Bill’s taken him hostage leaving Dipper to fend for himself, to survive the apocalypse by himself, to protect everyone by himself, and the only person he’s managed to find is Soos’ grandmother. Who’s also, subsequently been turned into a chair. So really, it’s not like much of a success then, is it?

There’s the sound of a thump, drag, thump, drag, and Abuelita is suddenly in Dipper’s line of sight, interrupting his dazed and frantic inner monologue. “Oh _mijito_ ,” Abuelita coos, the edge of her chair tilting a bit to lean into his leg for a moment before rocking back to the floor. “Everything will be alright.”

 _How can you possible believe that,_ he wants to say, maybe angrily. Or, _Of course it won’t be_ , more resigned. _You’re a chair and Mabel is missing and Soos still hasn’t come home and everyone else might be dead,_ he considers crying out. But in the end, he just says, “How do you know?”

Abuelita hums, eyes closed. For a long moment, she doesn’t respond, and Dipper briefly wonders if she’s fallen asleep. She may be a chair, but underneath all that, she’s still just an old lady. Maybe she’s even forgotten his question. But just as the silence stretches to awkward, Dipper wondering whether or not he should sneak away and leave her be, she speaks.

“My Soos is better for knowing you and your family. He is stronger now. A man now. When he saw the world become mad, his first thought was finding his friends. And he will. That is how I know.”

Dipper doesn’t quite know what to say to that. It’s touching, sure, but it doesn’t give Dipper a whole lot of hope. “Even if he does,” Dipper sighs, leaning back into the couch cushions again. “How am I going to fix all this?” Dipper gestures half heartedly to the world outside Abuelita’s tiny house, to the madness and chaos and Bill floating up above everyone like some malevolent god. “This is Bill’s world now. He’s won.”

“You are alive,” Abuelita says, casual and simple, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And it should be, but for some reason, Dipper is surprised to hear it. “You are alive. So he has not won.”

And that… That settles somewhere beneath Dipper’s chest like a crackle of energy, like a breath of relief.

She’s right, isn’t she? He’s alive. And as long as he stays alive, Bill hasn’t won. No matter how long it takes, no matter what happens to him along the way, as long as Dipper is still breathing, there will always be someone there to fight back. And hopefully, hopefully, once he finds the rest of his family and friends, he won’t have to do it alone.

“Mrs. Ramirez?” Dipper whispers.

“Call me Abuelita,” she hums in response.

“Abuelita,” Dipper says instead, lips tugging into a grin. It feels awkward and unnatural after all this, but he keeps on. “Thank you. For that.”

“Of course,” she says, as calm and nonchalant as ever. Dipper can’t help but chuckle to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. Who knew that exactly what he needed to hear right now was going to come from the sort-of-mouth of a grandmother turned into a chair? With a bit of a grunt, Dipper gets to his feet, stretching out his aching legs and rubbing absently at the bruises on his arms and face. He probably still has a long way to go, but compared to this morning, it doesn’t seem nearly as impossible somehow.

“I should probably get going,” Dipper says, walking towards the front window and carefully pulling back the curtains. The grill-creature seems to be gone, and as far as he can tell, no other monsters bent on doing him harm appear to be wondering the neighborhood. Now’s as good a time as any. Dipper turns back to Abuelita, taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair. “I have to find my sister. And Soos,” he adds with a smile. 

Abuelita moves in a way that might possibly be a nod of agreement, and says, “He would like that. Please. Take anything you need.”

As if on cue, Dipper’s stomach rumbles.

 

xxx

 

Dipper closes Abuelita’s front door as quietly as he can, keeping an eye out and an ear open for any creatures that may be lurking. His body feels heavy, the food Abuelita had given him sitting like a wonderful and unbelievable brick at the pit of his stomach. It doesn’t seem to know what to do after going empty for so long. But Abuelita had made him take a few granola bars for later, so maybe if he eats one more slowly, spreads it out and weans his stomach back in, he can fix it. He’ll take an easy fix wherever he can. 

Once he’s away from Soos’ neighborhood and back in the shelter of his back streets and alleys, Dipper pulls out the walkie.

He pushes the button.

“Hey Mabel, it’s me again,” he says, stealthily working his way around corners in the direction of… somewhere. Maybe if he gets closer to the center of town, to the heart of all of this, he might find a clue, something that’ll lead him to Mabel. “I went to Soos’ grandma’s,” he keeps on, talking at just above a whisper, eyes constantly scanning his surroundings. “She gave me something to eat and some surprisingly good advice.” Dipper smiles a bit at the thought, letting go of the button for a moment. As usual, he’s met with static, nothing more. 

But that’s okay. He still chooses to think she’s listening. So he presses the button again. 

“She also gave us some granola bars, in case you’re hungry. A blueberry and an apple. I’ll make sure to save you the blueberry one.”

 

xxx

 

It’s already starting to get dark by the time Dipper gets to the middle of town. It’s a nightmarish scene laid out before him, there’s no question about that. Sure Bill prides himself on his personal apocalypse being chaotic and strange and more than a little bit mad, but at its core, all Dipper sees is devastation. Classic, apocalyptic devastation.

As if on cue, however, a madness bubble floats past, forcing Dipper to duck into the nearest building he sees, the Gravity Falls library. He lets the large double doors slam shut behind him, watching from the side window until the bubble passes. If he can go the entire apocalypse without ever knowing what’s inside those things, he’ll consider that its own success.

Stealing himself, Dipper turns around and walks further into the library, past the lobby and into the demolished remains of the once pristinely organized catalogues. Much of the building is damaged, shelves toppled and books strewn about, many of which burnt or ripped to shreds. A few books seem to have survived, though, and Dipper can’t help bending down to pick up the first one he sees.

It’s a copy of Aldus Huxley’s _A Brave New World._ Of course it is.

He drops it back onto the floor and keeps walking, more than a little shocked that the building is so empty. There aren’t a lot of places where people can hide in Gravity Falls, not with a dream demon hanging over everybody’s heads, but he’d expected at least a group or two to have found refuge here. Instead, he’s just as alone as usual. 

He tries to take comfort in that. Being alone means he only has to take care of himself for the night. No more Bonnies to slip through his fingers. But it’s a hallow comfort at best. He’s lonely. There’s no point in denying it.

If Mabel were here it would be easier. If Mabel were here it would be better. If he doesn’t find her soon, he may go crazy.

Dipper walks as far into the library as he feels comfortable and picks a relatively enclosed section of shelves to surrounds himself with. From what he remembers of the Dewey Decimal System, he’s in History and Geography. Section 900. He takes out the walkie and shrugs out of his vest, bundling it into a pillow, lying down, settling in.

He presses the button.

“Hey, Mabel. It’s getting dark so I hope you’ve found a safe place to sleep for the night,” he starts, rolling over on to his side and curling up into a ball. “Everything’s getting quiet. I like to think that you’d tell me that’s a good sign, but it doesn’t feel like one.” He might be imagining it, but it feels like the library responds with a creak, a groan. Little noises that float through abandon buildings and make people think of ghosts. Dipper tucks further into himself and closes his eyes. It’s not cold in the library, really, but he still shivers.

“Anyway,” He says, voice soft. “Just… Get some sleep, Mabel. I’ll talk to you again tomorrow.”

He listens to static for a while before turning off the walkie and resting it on the floor, right next to his hand. Just in case.

It doesn’t happen without struggle, and it’s hardly sound, but eventually Dipper follows his own advice.

 

Day Three:

This time Dipper awakes to the feeling of being bashed over the head.

It’s less startling, in it’s own way, but substantially more painful, and more than a little confusing. Blearily, he struggles into consciousness, rubbing at the steadily growing lump at the top of his skull, his eyes darting frantically around the library. There’s no one. Not an attack then, but then wha-?

The sound of a large crack, a piece of debris falling from overhead and landing no more than an inch away from Dipper’s left foot. Dipper pulls his legs in close, hugs his knees to his chest, and looks up.

Section by section, the library’s roof is slowly being ripped away, pieces of wood and brick falling around him like meteors crashing to earth.

As quick as he can, Dipper grabs his vest and his walkie, gets to his feet, and starts running towards the entrance. He hates that part of him is curious; what could possibly be doing this? A giant hand? A fifty foot monster? A whirlwind of madness ripping apart the library piece by piece like Dorothy’s house in the Wizard of Oz? Either way, if he doesn’t get out soon, he’s likely to be buried alive in the rubble. Or worse.

He makes it to the door without injury, but enough of the debris has fallen to block the exit entirely. Another chunk of wood lands squarely on his shoulder and Dipper drops to a knee in pain. He grabs at the bruised area with a wince, looking up. Most of the roof is gone now, and from the gaping hole left behind, Dipper can see a giant face full of mouths peering in.

Fifty foot monster it is.

The rush of adrenaline is almost crippling. Dipper scrambles over to the debris that’s blocking the door and begins to remove as much of it as he can, but some of it is too heavy and it looks like a substantial chunk of roof has actually damaged the door itself so who knows if it will even open anymore if he can get to it and he’s running out of time.

He needs another way out.

Some debris still in hand, Dipper takes a step back and looks around. Surely the library has another exit, right? Or-

His eyes lock on a picture window by the side wall. He glances between it and the debris in his hand before sprinting towards it. The creature continues to loom over him, an equally mouth-covered hand reaching into the building just as Dipper gets to the wall. Covering his face with one arm, Dipper reels back and smashes the debris into the window, glass splintering and shattering, covering his shoes, the floor. Dipper slips out of his vest as quickly as he can and lays it across the window sill, climbing over and out just as the mouth monster’s hand reaches the library floor.

The monster is taller than Dipper expected, every inch of him covered in different sized, uniquely shaped mouths, most of which gaping. Dipper’s not sure how he knows, but he’s pretty sure the monster has realized his escape, the noises it’s making bordering on enraged.

Dipper grabs his vest and yanks it away from the window. There’s a thunk and a clatter on the other side, followed by the sound of static. Dipper’s heart sinks. He looks up, the monster slowly pulling away from the library and into a stand. It’s coming after him, he knows it. And he knows he should go, just leave the walkie behind, but-

But he can’t. It’s all he has.

Dipper throws his vest over the windowsill again and lifts himself up, scraping his arm against some jagged glass in his haste. The walkie has skidded a few feet away, still blaring static. It takes no more than a second and it’s back in his hand, Dipper’s grip on it white knuckled and desperate. He turns it off, holding it to his chest. He’s back over the window sill in an instant, glass still on his vest as he shrugs it back on.

The ground literally shakes beneath him. Dipper knows without looking that it’s the monster, each footstep that it takes in Dipper’s direction causing the earth to rumble and Dipper’s panic to spike. How is he supposed to outrun it? He’ll be right beneath the monster’s feet in less than a stride. Still, Dipper takes off in a sprint, legs pumping harder than he’s ever asked of them. 

Maybe if he hides. He just needs to hide.

The ground shakes beneath him again and Dipper almost trips. His chest is on fire and he’s pretty sure his arm is bleeding and every time his feet hit the pavement it’s like a shockwave straight up his spine. But he keeps running, keeps looking desperately for somewhere, anywhere.

He turns the corner and sees a stack of garbage bags piled up against a building wall.

Good enough.

Dipper practically dives into it head first, pressing himself as close to the wall as he can. Heart still pounding, each breath leaving him in agonizing heaves, Dipper arranges the bags around him, on top of him, blocking out the rest of the world.

The ground shakes. Silence. The ground shakes. Silence. The ground shakes.

Each step rattles Dipper’s bones, stabs at him with a fresh pang of terror. Twice, the monster lets out a frustrated sound that makes Dipper want to throw up. But eventually, the ground stops rumbling. Eventually, the only sounds Dipper hears are the sounds of the apocalypse passing by moment after moment around him.

Still, he stays buried, hidden. Out of sight. Just for a moment.

There must be a working television near by, the familiar sound of the news echoing with a slightly distorted crackle somewhere from Dipper’s right.

_“We are day three in this strange cataclysmic event which some are calling Weirdmageddon or the Odd-Pocalypse. Weather today calls for black clouds, blood rain, and frequent showers of eyeball bats turning people into stone. I’m Sandra Jimenez and I ate a rat for dinner.”_

Three days. He’s been at this for three days and he hasn’t accomplished anything. He hasn’t found anyone. 

He hates this.

He’s failing.

He just wants this to be over.

He just wants to find Mabel.

He just wants his family to be safe.

He hates this.

But he has to do it.

Before he can convince himself to stay in the safety of his pile of garbage forever, Dipper climbs back out into the open.

No more than a second after he does, he catches a glimpse of an already too familiar, red beam of otherworldly light headed in his direction. Of course. Dipper hurries away from it and climbs over the first fence he sees, steadfastly ignoring all thoughts of Bonnie and that red hue and a face frozen forever in a toothless grin.

The other side of the fence drops him into the mouth of another back alley. Dipper doesn’t even bother to look around, just leans against the back of the fence and sinks down. He’s safe for now, even if the moments of peace are always short lived, even if he’s just constantly waiting for that peace to be shattered. He’s safe for now, even if he hasn’t felt safe for days.

He’s safe for now and he’s alive. He’s still alive. He just needs to keep reminding himself of that.

He’s still alive and he’ll find Mabel. He will.

He’s still clutching the walkie-talkie, he realizes, his fingers popping and stiff as he opens his hand.

He presses the button.

“Mabel, it’s me. So far I’ve alluded capture, but I haven’t been able to find you or Stan anywhere.” He will though. He has to. “I don’t know if you can hear me,” Dipper says, wills himself to believe every word. 

“But wherever you are, whatever happens, I’m going to find you.”


End file.
